


at closing time

by dinosuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath, Bittersweet, Bonding, Comfort, Conversations, Gen, Introspection, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Missing Scene, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/dinosuns
Summary: “Keith, what happened?” The delivery is firm, but the words are pressed together. That’s unusual in itself, because Kolivan so often holds himself in a manner that is truly impressive and the epitome of diligence. Asking a question faster may not indicate much to someone else, but to Keith that shift is all the evidence he needs. “You failed to report in.”“I’m sorry Kolivan,” he breathes. “Krolia and I we-... we got caught up in something.”Well, that’s certainly one way of putting it.---Keith considers his current position, and makes a well overdue call.





	at closing time

**Author's Note:**

> season 6 spoilers all the way through, you've been warned folks. 
> 
> ENJOY!

It’s hard to say how long they’ve been flying.

Since charting their course to earth, an estimated one year trip at least, things have grown to be relatively and surprisingly stilted between the paladins. At the start of their long voyage, Lance finds it necessary to give never-ending commentary to every single thing they pass. Granted, the planets are beautiful and striking: Arefuh with its golden shimmering rings, Kalientos with it’s glorious seven moons; but there’s only so much incessant conversation Keith can take, especially since he has no idea how to handle what runs so blatantly underneath it.

There’s an image Keith can’t shake, no matter how much he wills himself to. He’d seen Lance break down, openly shed tears of remorse over Shiro’s situation. The helplessness Lance had succumbed to, the admission of not knowing - it tugs at Keith’s heart, bruising the muscle there. If there’s one thing Keith understands, that he can relate to, it’s that. Not knowing can create craters vast enough to lose yourself in, but the realisation that knowledge is close and _right there_ only makes those craters give way to pits far deeper and so much harder to climb out of.

Lance talks a while longer, rapidly and with enthusiasm about anything and everything he possibly can. But it’s becoming more and more of a clear default mechanism to cope - a poor one at that which is serving nobody any good, especially Lance himself. The red lion is growing irritable - Keith senses it, feels prickly heat burning up his skin. Further confirmation Lance is overwhelmed comes as Keith sees them swaying a little off course on his screen. With a gentle nudge, Keith pushes them back on track. Red purrs in appreciation; Keith ignores the pang in his chest.

Allura barely speaks even when addressed, and each time she contributes it becomes more hesitant and far more distracted, as if her mind is continuously drifting to another realm entirely. It’s not exactly difficult to figure out where. The place they had left Lotor was a dangerous, terrible one - even what Keith knows of Zarkon’s demise seems a fraction kinder. And that fraction provides a jarring truth he has yet to grapple with. In truth, he’s not sure what to make of it just yet and all the things the universe has thrown in their direction recently. Thinking of Lotor is difficult, painful in a way that makes little sense on the surface given the events - not thinking of him or his unfortunate fate is easier. Not better, but easier.  

Meanwhile, Coran and Romelle are content to be sharing their experiences of Altean Culture; Keith catches snippets of their conversation across the comms. Pidge has almost as much to say as Lance, and it makes half as much sense to Keith with all the science jargon shoved into every other word. Occasionally her words break pattern, giving way to something unexpected but understood. Then there’s Hunk, chipping in with sporadic bursts that slowly turn into intermittent snores. It’s another confirmation: the team are weathered and they are worn, barely holding themselves together in the aftermath.

Despite that, they’re trying their best. They’ve made mistakes, made choices with good intentions yet not always with good execution - and the consequences are only just beginning to creep up on them in the shadows between the stars.

But to see them endure this way, foolishly and wholeheartedly, that evokes something fiery and fierce within him. In this moment, amidst all else, Keith’s never felt prouder of them or more determined to keep them safe.  

Keith had glimpsed the faces of his whole team before they set off, felt and experienced their exhaustion stifled by hopeful smiles. Keith can’t begin to piece together how things must’ve been in his absence. And that’s a problem in itself, a reminder of the lapses in their communication. Because this period of time is practically unknown to him, and it’s something everyone seems reluctant to speak of. Especially given the recent events with Shiro.

It’s with that subdued realisation Keith bids the paladins farewell on the comms firmly. They agree to check in again in a few vargas time to arrange their next pit-stop. So long as they’re in his sight, blinking away on the black lion’s radar, that’s enough. There’s a lot to discuss and, admittedly, a lot to be frustrated about. Returning to the team is a gateway to bridging misunderstandings, becoming stronger and better as one unit. But that can’t happen until a few uncomfortable subjects have been dealt with honestly. They’re crossing wires already twisted, destiny tugging them tighter with barely enough space to breathe.

Keith won’t push them to talk right now, not in this fractured state.

But they’ll talk. They have to, before those wires snap.

Keith catches the poorly stifled yawn slip from Shiro’s mouth as all conversation ebbs into obscurity. He’s been out cold for most of their journey, but that doesn’t do much to deter Keith’s concern. Physically, Shiro had been on the brink. And there’s so much more to process. Fingers loosening around the controls, Keith glances up at the person time and time again he’d do anything for. Shiro had been a cruel mirage in the desert, now he’s a brilliant miracle in the stars. The sand never could bury his presence, and space could never break his soul.

Still, there are things that don’t escape Keith’s notice. Dark shadows beneath those heavy eyes, white hair slicked with sweat against a paling forehead. Shiro is so tired, the kind of tired that gnaws at bones until they are reduced to dust. Even the way Shiro is leaning against the pilot seat indicates he’s uncomfortable. And he’s doing it all for Keith, to keep him company in a moment of peace he fears has always been stolen. It will be paid back someday, Keith is not naive enough to believe this war is completely over.

“I can almost hear you thinking in there,” Shiro tries to joke, then. It’s accompanied by a splutter, his unsteady body sinking against the back of the seat for support. Keith feels the press of that weight, is willing to shoulder it. Compared to what Shiro is dealing with, it’s a light load to carry.

“I’m fine, Shiro,” Keith offers softly, as consolingly as he can without the rasp cleaving open his voice. It’s true - generally speaking, he is fine. The tension in his shoulders is unwinding, the fire crackling low and warm under his skin at a languid pace. Because he’s not alone, and for the first time in an age he is starting to believe it. Here in this lion, sits his entire universe. A family, forged in an unshakeable vow to never give up on each other. Keith will continue to fight for it, do whatever it takes for Shiro to get the rest he deserves.  

“You don’t have to stay up for me.”

“You’d do the same.” Words go unspoken, echoing in each syllable. Their eyes meet, tentative yet raw. Keith has nowhere to hide, no blade to push back with. _Please, Shiro-_ His breath hitches, fingers curling around the controls a little tighter. He wonders what Shiro remembers, _how much_ he remembers. It stings, to think even in a time of well-deserved, hard-earned peace that Shiro is haunted by ghosts nobody else can see.

“Ha, yeah. I’m not as much of a night owl as I let on,” Keith murmurs, lips lifting into a fond smile at the memories. Tinged in the orange sun, pale moonlight and endless expanse of clear skies. Shiro’s hand slides down to squeeze Keith’s shoulder, a low chuckle breaks over his lips. There’s amusement skating across his eyes when Keith seizes enough courage to look up.  

“You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I made sure our trips were never followed by an early morning lecture for you?”

There’s a lilting rhythm to Shiro’s words, falling in and out of focus as he struggles to keep himself awake.

“We can talk later.” _We have time, we have all the time in the universe and even if we didn’t I’d challenge time itself to ensure we did._ “Rest,” Keith breathes, pleads, barely above a whisper. Somehow, despite the gentleness of it, the imperative slices through. Though maybe that’s because of the pointed eyebrow Keith raises, daring Shiro to protest.

“Yes sir.” The messy peal of laughter leaves Shiro’s lips gracelessly as he heads back to the makeshift beds.

For the first time in years, the absence of Shiro’s touch doesn’t burn. That doesn’t stop Keith looking over his shoulder briefly to check this reality isn’t about to suddenly disintegrate. Shiro drifts into sleep with ease, Shadow leaping at the chance to curl up at his side. With a muffled hum, lips curving up in a way that Keith can’t help match, Shiro absently drapes an arm around the wolf. Shadow bonded immediately with Shiro - the companionship formed has become a mutually beneficial arrangement. Across from Shiro, his mother is sleeping too. Her back is turned, but Keith can see the slow rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. As Keith looks at them, together and at peace, a swell of warmth rises in his chest and bursts with enough pressure to knock the breath from his lungs.

When his father died, the quiet was cutting, sharper than the blade strapped to his belt. It hovered in an unwanted way, prying the words from his mouth and scattering itself into every house he went just to ensure he remembered and knew. His home was gone, and he may never find one again. When Shiro disappeared, the quiet was thick and heavy. It stung at his eyes, scratched his throat raw, as if the sand itself was choking him from the inside. The quiet had become ugly, distorted in the hands of grief and turmoil that clawed at his chest.  

Now the quiet is gentle, a welcoming and unassuming presence that unfolds around them. It doesn’t speak to Keith, it doesn’t try to intrude.

It’s just quiet - the kind of quiet he’s yearned for in all his years but never quite achieved.

Leaning back against the seat, Keith lets this moment stretch over him in a series of slow blinks. Behind his eyelids, darkness eclipses everything like an old friend and not as a threat to chase down. There’s a rumble beneath his fingers, vibrating between his bones as the black lion cruises across the stars. The whole thing is more serene than Keith expects. Pulling out the blade, he turns it over in his hands reverently.

“We’ve sure come a long way huh,” he murmurs.

They have. There once was a time it seemed this blade was the only thing on his side, the only companion Keith had. Now it’s a testament to all the things he vows to protect, the people he fights for. Also, he glances down at the symbol glinting in the purple hue of the cockpit, it stands for the people he fights with. Bolting up in his seat, Keith clasps the blade tighter. His eyes widen in newfound horror.

The blades.

_Kolivan._

Realisation hits harder with the name, an uncomfortable restlessness stewing in his stomach turbulently. He never called Kolivan, never established his status. Two years may have passed in an isolated pocket of trapped time, but it’s still been at least a month if not longer since he left on his mission. Now he’s shed his suit, dressed in paladin armour with no means for Kolivan to contact him. Standard procedure is for the blades to check in from their location when able, so long as a mission or cover is not compromised. Not to mention, it’s expected of them to inform Kolivan of any major events or potential risks where necessary.

Keith has neglected both of those protocols. That’s incentive to call, immediately. Considering Kolivan sent Keith to investigate after radio silence from Krolia, there’s every chance a handful of blades could be flying themselves unknowingly into a former warzone - now walking deathtrap - and that’s _after_ getting through a debris field unscathed. Keith thinks of Regirs and that’s enough - too much, in fact.

Tapping at one of the screens, Keith types in the communication patch. It’s difficult when his hands are starting to tremble against his will, but he manages. If anything, Keith is a product of persistence. Within a few seconds, Kolivan’s face appears on the screen. Relief sweeps through Keith at the sight. That quickly subsides, however, when Keith catches a familiar expression sitting there. It’s one that time has only made clearer to understand. Kolivan's eyebrows are knitted tight together, hard lines carved deeper into his face. His eyes are narrowed, lips caught in a downward curl. And right there sits alarm, a personal parasite which feasts on unanswered questions. It’s more than Keith anticipated. Before he can begin to process it _,_ the sheer unmasked concern radiating there, Kolivan speaks.

“Keith, what happened?” The delivery is firm, but the words are pressed together. That’s unusual in itself, because Kolivan so often holds himself in a manner that is truly impressive and the epitome of diligence. Asking a question faster may not indicate much to someone else, but to Keith that shift is all the evidence he needs. “You failed to report in.”

Yeah, Keith did. And despite circumstances, he is beginning to regret not even thinking about it.  

“I’m sorry Kolivan,” he breathes. “Krolia and I we-... we got caught up in something.”

Well, that’s certainly one way of putting it. Kolivan’s expression retreats to something more composed, a little less exposed. Leaning back from the screen, he hums in contemplation at the ambiguous answer. It’s not an excuse, or even a worthy explanation. Keith knows this, and it’s not something he’s remotely proud of. Still, Kolivan doesn’t seem to dismiss the words or question the lack of clarity. Inexplicably, it’s as if he has been waiting for them. Kolivan always seems to know more than he should, somehow. There’s an admirable bank of wisdom chiselled into every inch of him. Pursing his lips, Keith waits for a response or a lead. Fortunately, Kolivan has one. He opens a window on screen, revealing a map of the stars Keith and the team had previously been fighting for the fate of universe in whilst riding on the edge of a cataclysmic apocalypse.

“My readings detected a large energy mass in quadrant Delta 43X9, and I have been unable to contact the castle of lions since.”

The question isn’t voiced, but Kolivan clears his throat and the sound breaks unevenly. He’s worried. Keith’s spine locks into a rigid, hard line. Did Kolivan think Voltron had fallen? Did he ever consider the possibility Keith and Krolia might not make it back? It’s a revelation that aches.

“The castle got destroyed, but everyone got out okay. We’re in the lions now.” Kolivan undoubtedly has gathered as much, with the combination of Keith’s surroundings and his change of attire. Steeling himself, Keith catches Kolivan’s eyes. There’s so much to say, and he’s unsure how to articulate any of it. But the least he can do is part with this one bittersweet truth. “We’re headed back to earth to get the plans for a new ship.”

There’s a weighted pause. Kolivan does absolutely nothing to fill it at first. And when he does, it’s in the form of a hum more shallow than the ones that came before. Keith frowns as the silence stretches, almost unbearably far. His hand tightens around his blade, thumb stroking across the symbol. Being a paladin again comes with a few unsettled qualms - Keith could be straddling two teams once more. Or, he could be leaving one again.    

“My coordinates have you just outside of Delta 43X9. Without the technology of the castle to wormhole, earth will be a long journey from your position.” _And so is the blade of Marmora,_ Keith hears despite his best efforts. Kolivan most likely has already pieced this part together: he’s not coming back.

Gritting his teeth, he nods. _Damn this._ “Yeah.”

“Perhaps now, you will be able to spare some time reporting your mission status.”

The shift in tone leaves Keith momentarily confused. Of all things, he hadn’t expected Kolivan to find amusement here. It feels misplaced, but perhaps Kolivan isn’t the only one missing pieces to a story.

“Right.”

There’s a lot to fill in and, now in this rare stasis, the chaotic stream of events is unnervingly tangible. In this lull, somehow it’s all more real than it ever had been. Glancing back at Krolia, Shiro and Shadow, Keith purses his lips. Kolivan is long overdue and update, the least Keith can do is oblige him. With one shallow hiss of air, he relays to Kolivan the events of their mission; Ranveig’s weapon, the exchange to escape the planet, Krolia’s findings. Despite relaying far much more than a simple mission update requires, there’s still so much Keith omits. How exactly he’s supposed to bring up his personal connection to Krolia, he doesn’t know.  

Recalling it all begins his own unravelling. Once Keith starts talking, he can’t seem to stop. The mission. Those two years on the outskirts of that burning dark star. The source of all that quintessence. It all pours out in copious amounts of detail, searing the memories deeper into his skin. Kolivan listens intently, with no interruptions, and Keith doesn’t miss the subtle shift in his expression to something truly abject when they get to a pivotal point. _Shiro._ It’s now that dread seizes him. The prodding exhaustion in his ribs finally slips into the pilot seat. 

It’s brief, his retelling of the gut-wrenching confrontation. But the strained silence between every word is crushing, squeezing the anguish out of him as he desperately fights to keep his voice steady.

He fails.

He doesn’t tell Kolivan about how they fall, how when cascading through a collapsing station Keith had never been more sure of anything in his life: he would share whatever fate Shiro did, including death.

It’s not until Keith surmises Lotor’s grim fate that Kolivan finally speaks.

“With Lotor gone, the Galra Empire will be more unstable than ever. We must ensure Sendak-”

The name is enough to stoke flickering flames into a raging inferno. What Sendak did to the universe, to Shiro, what he _could still do-_ Keith’s sharp and sudden panic must be palpable, because immediately Shadow is darting to his side. With a whimper, the wolf nuzzles against his shaking hand. God. Sendak. The Galra civil war. Zarkon’s death caused unrest within the empire, they saw that firsthand, and word of Lotor’s disappearance could spark a whole new uprising. Worse, their work here may be undone tenfold. The empire’s power rekindled, stronger and united under an unforgiving leader that will show no mercy, no remorse. Sendak knows where to strike, the right chords to hit. He has consistently proved this, exploited his enemies weaknesses to his advantage.

A jarring fact: Sendak is not above using innocent lives as leverage. He has before, he will again. 

That’s too much to process, completely sickening and terrifying in their situation. Voltron is a shell of what it should be, what it _needs_ to be to fight, and so are its paladins. They are in no state to defend anything or anyone convincingly. If Sendak knew that, not just Voltron would be in jeopardy but _so much more._

“Keith,” Kolivan starts slowly.

Keith can hardly move, frozen in place. It takes more effort than it should to speak, string words together.   

“The team are exhausted,” he manages, pressing his eyes shut in attempts to regather his composure. _Get it together, come on._ Shadow gives a small reassuring lick to his palm, it draws a terrible noise from Keith’s lips he desperately prays Kolivan doesn’t catch. This is truly a dire situation. “We’re barely holding out. Shiro needs rest, Allura’s used so much of her life force. We- we’re in no condition to fight, and-”

The thought of an ambush, being forced to fight again with everything they have, drives him toward untamed and wild unrest. It’s a possibility, one he can no longer shake. And the outcome is too uncertain to take any chances.

“Whilst not ideal, we have managed without Voltron before. The rebel forces and the blade of Marmora will keep track of the empire and any suspicious movements.” It’s supposed to be reassuring, Keith only feels more guilt, more responsibility he can’t live up to. He knows all too well how dangerous the work is as a blade, how the stakes are ever higher without a giant robot taking the brunt of an incoming attack. People could die, people sometimes do. Maybe they will again. 

Kolivan’s voice softens, almost lost to the cracklings of their comms. “I trust this means we will not cross paths for some time.”

Keith smiles weakly. It slants too far on his lips, unable to sustain itself there. He wants Kolivan will understand, dares to hope he will. Despite everything, making this choice feels like a defeat - close to a betrayal of so many things he has pledged himself to from the very beginning.

“My mission has changed.” His eyes drift to the green lion, a little further ahead. Behind him, Shiro groans in his sleep. That cements it, of course it does. Discarding the budding guilt, he can’t help them _he’s being selfish, choosing to walk away_ , Keith lifts his head. In this he will never falter, he can’t.

“They need me here.”

He doesn’t realise he’s stood up, swept entirely into this passionate affirmation until he’s looking down at the blade in his hand. Fully formed, awakened at his unconscious command. Kolivan averts his gaze, a weary and knowing smile dragging up from the corner of his mouth. There’s something fond there, Keith sees the traces of it. And if that’s not enough to send Keith spiralling, Kolivan’s words do.

“I would expect no less loyalty and devotion from Krolia’s son.”

 _Son._ Funny. Keith doesn’t remember telling Kolivan about that part, because he definitely didn’t. Falling back into his seat, Keith narrows his eyes. The gears turn fast, pieces slotting together with so much ease it’s almost embarrassing he missed it before. The extraction mission, setting Keith on Krolia’s path, that has to mean-

“You knew.”

It’s not a question. Kolivan purses his lips, gives a shallow nod. Something calculating flickers in Keith’s eyes and it’s as if no time has passed between them at all.

“How long?” A challenge, audacious in nature. Kolivan handles it with masterful, envious grace.

“Each blade is sacred, and the craftsmanship is unique to the individual. It is not uncommon for the shape of a blade to represent a family’s heirloom. A blade can only be unlocked by another when the wielders are related by blood.”

The bubbling agitation in Keith withers at the answer - but only slightly. He doesn’t want conflict, he just wants to understand. At this point, however, he doesn’t. Because Kolivan _knew,_ all this time. From the moment Keith set foot in the base, it’s likely he suspected there was a connection once spotting the blade. Awakening it surely would have confirmed not just Keith’s Galra heritage, but the fact he truly was Krolia’s son. It makes sense now, Antok’s defensive behaviour. _Who did you steal this from?_ Keith wonders if he knew Krolia, if Ulaz and Thace knew her too. Each thought harbours a thousand more questions perhaps not even Kolivan can answer.

“But the trials, when I -…” Leaning forward, Keith frowns. There’s an audible break in his voice, splintering the words right down the middle. “ _Why didn’t you tell me?”_

“There was no appropriate time. And if there were, would you have listened?” Kolivan counters smoothly.

No, he wouldn’t have. In hindsight, they both know that. Bowing his head, Keith clenches a fist. The simmering frustration isn’t directed at Kolivan, just the universe for the cards dealt by its unwavering hand.  

“Keith, you must understand. It was not my truth to tell.”

Gaze flicking up, Keith considers the words. Within them, the bigger picture hangs unframed. The blade of Marmora is built on secrecy and caution, that ensures protection of their work and of their members. Relaying personal connections could compromise so much more than just two people, Keith realises. It doesn’t make this sting any less, but it clicks into place better. Kolivan did what he always has done from the outset: look out for the safety and security of those in his charge. If anything, Kolivan personally saw to it that they were united again. _Thank you,_ doesn’t quite cut it here. Startled into silence, Keith ruffles the fur on Shadow’s head absently.  

“I see you have acquired a vrehari wolf for a companion,” Kolivan muses, sensing this conversation has no other avenue to turn for now.  

As if knowing they have become the centre of attention, Shadow perks up. It’s endearing and cause for Keith to reach down and scratch beneath Shadow's chin. Shadow is positively delighted, leaning into the touch with no shame.

“You’ve seen one before?”

“Yes, though not for many pheobs. They are very rare creatures.” A smile graces Kolivan’s lips. There’s a story there, a really good one - Keith can sense it. But he’s unsure if he can ask for it, not after already probing Kolivan with so many questions and none of them remotely simple. Instead, Keith settles for keeping them both locked in this light atmosphere. Lips twitching, he exchanges a conspiratorial look with Shadow. If anyone asks, it’s those big curious eyes that are completely to blame and all the encouragement he needs.

“I named him Kolivan.”

A moment passes and Keith wonders if maybe he’s made a big mistake, overstepped. Then with one prolonged sigh, Kolivan clasps his hands behind his back. It’s definitely a gesture steeped in judgement. Dismay and possible disappointment.

“Heh, just kidding...” Keith admits hastily, for clarification. But it’s too late to bury any embarrassment now without being caught. Kolivan knows, _he always knows._

“I’m quite aware,” he says because he knows _how does he always know._ God. Kolivan has the courtesy not to gloat, nor linger on this failed joke. And Keith is grateful the universe has the courtesy to ensure the communications between them aren’t shared. He can imagine too vividly, already hear Lance quoting this for the rest of their journey and never letting him live it down for a second - it’s awful.

“Keith,” pulling him from his thoughts, Kolivan holds up his own blade. “I am proud to see the man you have become. Do not forget that you are and always will be a fellow blade.”

That’s overwhelming, enough for Keith’s eyes to sting a little. Blinking rapidly, he searches for something _anything_ to say.

“Kolivan…” Keith settles for, dumbfounded. He realises then, that this is everything he needed to hear. His place isn’t unwritten, it doesn’t have to be. Fumbling, Keith tries again. “Kolivan-” It seems to be the only thing he can say convincingly without his voice shattering into pieces, or a shocking choked sob breaking too audibly between them. Holding up his blade, Keith sucks in a breath and purses his lips. He’s unsure if the gesture comes close to articulating what he can’t with words, but he sincerely hopes it does.

“I expect to receive your next mission log in approximately forty vargas-“

 _Wait what._ The abrupt gear change startles Keith into a series of messy splutters.

“What are you-? Kolivan! That’s not- I’m-”

Undeterred, Kolivan continues his instructions. “Failure to report in may result in me contacting you directly.”

 _Oh._ It’s then Keith hears the message, and is truly touched by it: don’t be a stranger.

Grinning sheepishly, he nods before signing off with a casual salute. “Understood.”

**Author's Note:**

> 8)


End file.
